Chapter Six
Six
Isling my bookbag over my shoulder and head out the door of my new studio apartment.
Tugging at my oversized t-shirt, I pull it down to make sure it’s covering my spandex-clad ass.
I make my way down the narrow staircase that leads to the back hall entrance to The Wolfpack Bar and Grill, that’s located right off campus.
Most days, I take the side entrance, so I don’t have to run into any patrons, but since I know my friend, Berkley, works the breakfast-through-lunch shift on Wednesdays, I go for the entrance to the restaurant.
It’s busier than I'd expect to be at this time of day, especially with most of the students going home for the summer.
Phil, the bar owner and my new landlord, notices me, and his eyebrows pinch together with concern. “Is everything okay upstairs?”
I smile and nod. “Yes, it’s perfect. I was just popping in to say hi to Berkley.”
He breathes a sigh of relief. “Okay, well, never hesitate to call Tiffany or me if you need anything.”
“Thanks, Mr. Oakley.”
“Call me Phil. Mr. Oakley makes me feel old. And definitely don’t call my wife Mrs. Oakley or ma’am. She’s thirty-nine plus tax and doesn’t want to be reminded of it.”
I salute him. “Got it, Phil.”
He laughs to himself, and just as he turns, I spot a blonde braid and a pretty smile heading my way.
“Hey, P, you look cute.” She leans in for a hug and asks, “Where you heading?”
I stop myself from waving off her compliment. I’m still getting used to accepting them and trying my best to believe her words, especially when girls as beautiful as Berkley are the ones saying them.
Where was she when I was in high school? The pretty girls at my school who loved to torment me didn’t hold a candle to Berkley; she’s beautiful on the inside and out.
“Broadcasting… Thankfully, it’s not a complete snoozefest, or I’d prob pass out on my desk.”
Berkley snarls her nose likely at the thought of summer classes. “Just sit next to Maverick. He’ll keep you laughing. The dude is part comedian.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Oh, I’m not just sitting beside him. He’s apparently my partner for the summer semester.”
She laughs at that. “Don’t look so terrified. He’s actually one of the best guys. He’s a harmless flirt, but you’ve seen the way he is with hockey. I think he knows when it’s time to be serious.”
I swallow roughly. I’m not one bit terrified of him not completing the assignment. No, I’m terrified I won’t because I’m too distracted with his perfect jawline, tattooed arms, and thick thighs.
“I know, he seems like a great guy. It’s kind of weird now with everyone knowing I’m the face behind the Howler Report. He made me agree not to quote him.” I wince a bit, thinking back to his set of rules.
Don’t fall in love with me.
Not a chance, Maverick Leblanc. I love admiring hot jocks, but I learned long ago not to trust them.
Berkley smirks. “That sounds like Mav. And don’t feel weird; you should own it, babe.”
“I’m trying to get used to it.” I shrug. “Well, I just wanted to say hi and thank you again for helping me get this place. I was so over the dorms.”
When Berkley and her best friend, Bellamy, found out I was still living in the dorms, I was a bit embarrassed.
Most of the students around here only stay in the dorms for one or two years, and then they move out to off-campus housing, but I can’t afford that.
However, after my roommate from hell last year, I was determined to find something within my small budget.
“It was truly no big deal. Nate and I considered moving in, but decided it would be a little too tight for the two of us.” She gently rubs her still-flat stomach. “Thank goodness.” A laugh leaves her knowing that in about seven more months, things are going to be even tighter.
“How are you feeling?” I ask, still looking at where her hand rests protectively.
“Luckily, the morning sickness isn’t actually in the morning, or I’d probably be on the bathroom floor right now. It seems to come around five p.m. every day.”
“Ugh, that still sucks.”
“Yeah, but it’s okay. Nate’s researching everything he can to make sure I’m well taken care of and, surprisingly, the ginger lollipops he bought me work pretty well,” she says with a loving smile, talking about her boyfriend, the all-star quarterback of our football team.
“Good, well, let me know if you want to go get ice cream or something one day when you’re feeling up to it.”
She smiles sweetly. “Oh, man, that sounds good. Is today after work too soon?”
I chuckle at her excitement. “Absolutely not. Let’s do it. I’ll be back from class before the lunch rush is over, so just text me.”
“Perfect, have a good class, and tell Maverick I said to behave.” She smirks and sashays away.
Maverick’s eyes trace the words on my shirt as I move into the seat beside him.
“MRU Football? Where is your school pride? Don’t you remember who brought home the championship this year?”
I playfully roll my eyes at him. “Damn, do your roomies know you’re such a football hater?”
He raises an eyebrow at me. “I’m just looking out for you. The Howler Girl should be wearing the best of the best, ya know.”
“Mmhmm. Y’all’s uniforms just aren’t nearly as tight as football and baseball pants. Maybe something you should consider talking to the coach about. Would prob get you more fans in the bleachers.”
A blush creeps up my neck at my response. These are things I have no problem typing up in a Howler Report, but for some reason, saying them out loud, especially to a hot athlete who looks like Maverick Leblanc, embarrasses the shit out of me.
He lets out an offended gasp. “I bet I can throw a football and a baseball better than any of my roomies could hit a hockey puck while on skates.”
I purse my lips. He has a point, but also, a great idea forms in my head.
“That would be a fun way to raise money and get students to participate in an event.”
His eyebrows pinch, and he tilts his head. “What do you mean?”
“Like a contest between the best athletes from all the different teams. But instead of your own sport, you have to do other things. Like for you, shooting free throws, throwing a football into targets, and hitting baseballs. Just some ideas.”
He nods along, and I can tell he’s thinking about it too. “That actually does sound pretty fun. What would we raise money for?”
“Well, if it were up to me, I’d say STOMP OUT Bullying, because I think that kids who have issues with this, seeing some the top athletes in the country raising money for it, would be super impactful, but I know the school has a partnership with some of the local high schools for college scholarships and such, which is also great. ”
I can feel him analyzing me as Professor Spect comes into the lecture room.
“I’d definitely be down to do that if you’re serious about it. Let me know how I can help.”
A big smile takes over my face at the excitement of hopefully getting to head an event like this on campus.
Our professor interrupts the ideas playing out in my mind. “Okay, class, I hope you’re all seated beside your partners, because I’m going to tell you about your first of two projects. Please move if not.”
Most people are seated with those they’re working with because only a few scramble around the room to change seats. Once everyone’s in place, the professor begins.
“Our first assignment is going to be to go to an event; it can be any type of event. Sporting, musical, art, community, whatever you consider to be an event. During the time you’re there, you need to journal a broadcasting dialogue about what you’re witnessing, what feelings it provokes, what you see, smell, taste even, basically all the senses and emotions you experience.
Then you two can sit down and create a dialogue as if you were broadcasters at this event.
” He takes a breath and grabs a stack of papers before continuing.
“I’ll pass out a paper at the end of class with the specific guidelines, but I wanted to tell you about the assignment before we start today.
Because we’re going to watch a few examples of broadcasting.
Some that are great and others that are not-so-great.
After each clip, we’ll analyze them as a class, and this will give you feedback to consider when creating your own event dialogue. ”
Two sentences into his speech, I already know the perfect event for us to cover, and I’m sure Maverick will feel the same.
Once the professor is done and starts uploading the clip to his projector, Mav leans over and whispers, “Baseball playoffs next Friday.”
I smirk. “You read my mind.”
“I knew that Howler Girl wasn’t going to miss the opportunity to see some baseball butts.”
I can’t help the laugh that bursts out of me, causing the entire class and professor to look in my direction. I cover my mouth, and I know without a doubt I’m as red as a stop sign.
“Nothing to see here. She just has a really funny partner,” Maverick says, slinging his arm around me.
His arm is massive and warm. I hate the thrill it sends through my body.
Maverick Leblanc, ladies’ man, who I’m ninety percent certain is in love with a girl who has a boyfriend. Ask me how I know? I’ve caught the way he looks at her on camera before, and there’s no denying it.
So I definitely don’t need to be feeling anything other than friendship when it comes to this man.
I head into the Howler Report, waving at our head editor, James, who’s a previous grad of Mountain Ridge.
“I’m able to cover the baseball playoffs next weekend. It actually fits in perfectly with an assignment I have to complete. Is that cool with you? I know if they make it to college worlds, you’ll go to that, but I figured since I’m here and they’re at home, I could cover this series.”
“Yep, that’s perfect. I was about to email you because next week is my wife’s birthday, and I’m taking her on a little getaway to Florida.”
I smile, thinking how cute they are together. “Sounds good.”
“Speaking of emailing you, did you get that forward I sent you last week?”
I ponder that because I don’t remember getting anything from him. “Not that I can remember. What was it in regard to?”
“My wife and I are driving to Charlotte next month because the Bulls are hosting a Women’s Professional Baseball night, A League of Their Own-themed event. We thought you may want to join us.”
“Oooh, that sounds right up my alley. I’d definitely remember that email.”
“Check your junk. Maybe since I forwarded it from the event page, it went there.”
“Perfect, thanks for thinking of me.”
“I’m about to head out, so just text me if you want us to get you a ticket.”
“Sounds great. Have a good rest of your week.” I smile and wave.
Checking my phone, I still have plenty of time before I need to be back to meet Berkley. I grab my laptop from my bag and pull up my email. I scroll through a few of the unread messages before checking my junk mail.
“A League of Their Own” in the subject line immediately draws my attention, but at the bottom of the page, my eyes zone in on another unread junk message with “Howler Girl” in the subject line.
From: showmethemoney@
Mystery Howler Girl,
Well, I guess you aren’t a mystery anymore… Peyton Whitmore. Definitely never would’ve pegged you as having a dirty little mind.
My roommates and I have a bet going on, and I’m the odd one out.
See, I think the unhinged entries from this year are your alter ego, like thoughts you’ve always had, but you’re just finally letting them show.
But I also think the past two years have been when you've been writing most of the Howler Reports. The ones with lots of stats, sports quotes, and information that most people wouldn’t know unless they did thorough research.
I’m not saying I don’t like the unhinged shit you’ve been writing. I mean, let's be honest…I’m flattered. But I just really want to prove them wrong. So, Mystery Howler Girl, aka Peyton, have you been writing for The Howler report all along?
I know this is random, but I need to know. We love being able to say we’re right about something in this house. Plus, it’ll get me out of kitchen-cleaning duty for a whole month.
XO,
Gossip Guy
P.S. There’s no doubt in my mind that you’re a Gossip Girl fan. Were you Team Chuck and Blair all along?
I can’t wipe the smirk off my face. I reread the email several times, trying to figure out who would’ve sent it.
My brain keeps getting hung up on Mav calling me, “Howler Girl.” Plus, this totally feels like a bet the guys in The Wolves Den would have.
Could it be Mav? But the email is from back in the winter.
I’m intrigued. Immediately, I hit reply and start typing.
From: [email protected]
To: showmethemoney@
Wow, I’m flattered. I doubt I’ve ever been the deciding factor between a whole house of people.
Part of me wants to play my own game and lie, but at the same time, I kinda like the fact that you knew it was me the past few years.
Yep, you got me… I’m a huge sports buff, but my first couple of years here, no one paid attention to The Howler Report. Fun fact: Unhinged Howler Girl has increased our online newsletter views by more than 50% in just one year.
I know… Holy shit, right?
And yes, of course, I love Gossip Girl. What do you think inspired my wild behavior?
I was Team Chuck and Blair, you got me there too. That’s where my lore started… Or one of the places, at least.
Now that I’ve told you the truth, I want one of my own.
Hmm, or maybe two.
First off, did you suspect who Gossip Girl was in the end?
Secondly, what the hell is up with that email? Are you a huge Jerry McGuire fan?
Sorry for the late response. This got lost in my junk mail.
XOXO,
Howler Girl